Frozen Storm
by Darth Erebus
Summary: After the death of his mother, a young Callum runs away in search of his birth father, becoming the Lost Prince. He returns with a new name, and as a prisoner and criminal for crimes against Katolis - but before he can be tried, ends up on a journey with a brother he doesn't know, and a moonshadow elf assassin who hasn't killed anyone. Odin help him.WarriorCallum.Eventual Rayllum.


**Prologue**

* * *

Harrow was a failure.

First he couldn't protect Sarai, and now he couldn't protect her son. How could he _lose_ Callum?

He was a failure.

"I want him found," the king commanded, worry and anxiety lacing his voice as his heart sank deeper and deeper into his stomach, "Now."

"Yes my King, we will send out a search party immediately," Selia, Harrow's trusted crownguard captain, saluted him, a grimace painting her face as her azure eyes met Harrow's own. "We will find him, my King."

The dark haired man nodded, dismissing the woman as the blonde knight fled the hall, briskly passing through the heavy oak doors and out into the hall beyond. The massive wooden doors slammed shut, and Harrow was once again left alone with his thoughts.

_Oh Callum…_

The boy was not his own son, at least, not by blood, but that had hardly ever mattered to the King. He loved the dark haired child like his own, and now - only a few days after he had returned 'victorious' from Xadia, the lone surviving monarch of a group that had originally contained four - he had _lost_ that son. His last remaining connection to a wife whose body still lay in the temple that was only a short walk from the castle, awaiting the week of grief to conclude before the cremation ceremony.

Harrow's eyes drifted along the courtyard and gardens that sat outside the throne room, eyebrows furrowing as his fists clenched in rage.

_Thunder… You did this._

Fire and brimstone bubbled up in the King's chest, his eyes a storm. Looking out once again towards the courtyard, he watched as Selia - bless her for her swiftness - and a group of crownguard mounted their horses and took off through the gate at full gallop.

_My wife wasn't enough for you, so now - even as far as we may be from your fangs - you take Callum from me too._

Harrow turned, descending away from the waning light of the setting sun, and into the dark, candle lit hall of the castle.

_I hate you, Thunder, I hate you._

* * *

Callum had always known his birth father was from Del Bar, had been told since he was a boy that the man was from the northern portion specifically; where the continent was nearly always frozen - save a summer that lasted only around a month - and broke off into thousands of tiny isles that were the home of the Del Barian raiders. The raiders who were, while not _officially_ recognized as their own kingdom, and thus regularly viewed by ruling authorities as Del Barian pirates, were _unofficially_ recognized as the rulers of northern Del Bar and the Gelida sea which bordered it.

The many warring tribes and clans that made up the Raiders did nothing but that, _wage_ _war_, and pillage, and murder, and, well, _raid_. For many generations, and even within Callums own lifetime, villages in Del Bar, and even north Katolis - who were ill equipped to deal with the attackers, which was becoming an increasing problem - had to deal with spring times filled with war and pillaging.

Using their thin ships, and the rivers that were so common in the northern portions of the pentarchy as their 'highways of hell' - a title that was known throughout the human kingdoms - the raiders could launch surprise attacks on unsuspecting villages with little resistance. It made them a favorite mercenary group to hire among the nobility of Del Bar when dealing with rebellions.

The Raiders were famous throughout the world as some of the most _skilled_ and _brutal_ warriors in the human kingdoms, only really rivaled by the strength of the Katolian forces - an achievement of both his aunt Amaya and mother had taken great pride in - but even that was pushing it. Katolis had the most skilled soldiers of all the Pentarchy, certainly, however…

The Raiders were _warriors_, and there was a key difference there that Callum was sure to note. Afterall…

_"Soldiers follow their orders, but warriors follow their hearts."_

The image of his father was blurry, and though he couldn't see his face - nor _see_ him at all, really - Callum knew that it was _he_ who had told him that.

The Raiders were warriors, and his father was a Raider.

_No one ever told me he was, not even mom…_

Even within the confines of his thoughts, a momentary rage sparked through Callum's blood, before an unsettling - but welcome - nothingness replaced it; resting on his bones like a frosty blanket, the young child bore the comfort all the same. To him, _nothing_ was better - less scary - than the _something_ that lurked beneath.

_She… Never really brought him up once he died, but…_

There was something in his heart, in his blood, that told Callum his father had been a raider. And to be honest, he didn't really know how to feel about it.

What he did know, however, was that he couldn't stay in that castle, wouldn't, even if he could.

_And I **can't**._

The child's face twisted for a moment, disgust and anger and despair rolling across his features like a thunder cloud, before retreating back into his unfeeling mask.

His mother had promised to come back, and she didn't; Harrow promised to keep her safe, and he couldn't; and even if some small voice in his heart, which sounded suspiciously like his mother - his _dead _mother - cried out in pain and told him that it was no ones fault, Callum just _couldn't_ _accept_ **_that_**.

His mother wasn't someone who should die. Harrow isn't someone who should lie. And his father was dead, but Callum was going to look for him anyway, because it was the only thing he could do anymore. The only thing that made _sense_.

Callum's whole world was turning itself on its head, and the 6 year old felt sick because of it. _Sick_ of the castle, _sick_ of the guards and the nobles, _sick_ of Harrow and his lying, and **_sick_ **of Katolis - the country who had said they were grieving for his mother, but threw parades in the streets, and celebrated with festivals and drinking and parties all through the night.

_That's not grief. They're happy she's dead if it means they get to fill their bellies._

The child's thoughts drifted to the cruel nobles who always hated him and his mother for their low born standing.

_I hate them. They're probably happy she's gone._

The brown haired boy let out a small sniffle as he walked, wiping his hand against his nose and scrunching it up in an effort not to cry.

_… Well I'm not. I'm not happy at all._

Stopping under a surprisingly tall oak tree, the child pressed his back against the bark and slid down to the dirt. Feeling the tears edging their way to his vision, the boy was smart enough at least to keep his sobs quiet - afraid that someone would find him should they be too loud.

His mother had taught him what to do when you were running away and didn't want people to find you, even before she became the queen, and Callum was almost _sure_ being quiet was one of the first rules.

Sadly, the child reached down his shirt to the necklace that lay beneath. It was a tiny little thing, fashioned from a coin, and carved with a strange mark that pierced through the metal.

Callum thought his mother had called it a 'rune', but he wasn't sure.

His eyes fell to his waist, and the dagger that was sheathed there. Carefully, he reached down and grabbed at the hilt - which was pointed towards his right side, because he found it easier to wear the scabbard on his font than his hip. Pulling gently, the blade came loose from the leather which held it, and the clean, perfectly kept blade beneath sparkled lightly in the waning light.

It was an obvious Del Barian make, and with the research that Callum had done - he was a nerd and he was proud, the librarian even gave him a cookie for all the time he had spent studying - he also knew it was a Raider's blade.

There was no crossguard, the hilt - which was wrapped with a thick black leather - simply blended upward into a thicker portion from which the blade protruded. It was simple, beautiful, and…

And it had been his father's.

Looking carefully over the steel, Callum spotted a rune towards the base of the blade that he hadn't noticed before.

Well, more like 'the rune', since he didn't know what a 'rune' was, and only knew the one from his mom's necklace.

_They're the same…_

Callum quirked his head.

_Cool._

Smiling a small smile, Callum pulled himself up from his spot at the base of the tree and sheathed the blade. Picking up his small bag, which was packed with all his 'necessary survival supplies' - as listed and taught to him by his mother - the boy continued his march. Even at night, the air was warm, a byproduct of the dark magic fueled summer, so Callum knew his best bet was to keep moving while he could.

_"Rest only when you have too, or when you know for certain you will not be found. Move forward, never back if you can help it. Wash yourself and travel by river when you can, it will hide your scent. Remember all the things you were taught about trapping and foraging? About hunting?" Sarai looked down on the young boy - her young boy - as he nodded away to affirm what she was saying, and answer all the questions she asked. "__And the last rule?"_

_"Survive?" Callum's small voice answered in a question, and Sarai lowered herself to the ground, so she could better look at him - so he could see her eyes and her seriousness, and the hidden rule which lie beneath her warm chocolate iris._

_"At all costs."_

"At all costs," Callum repeated, out into the open - empty - air. A sound acknowledgement that was nothing more than a whisper, and yet was bore with words which held all the weight that his now dead mother's had held that day. He moved as fast as he could, pushing his little legs to move as quickly as possible as he marched through the forest at a strong walk, because _"If you run and get tired then you get caught"_, and Callum _refused_ to get caught. Refused to go back to that castle, to that _liar_, and to his home which was _supposed_ to have a mother, but _didn't_.

"At all cost."

* * *

**Ok, so this is a modified version of the plot from my previously posted _Winter_ _Winds_; written with a bit more thought to world building and characters, as well as an overarching plot in mind. Featuring, drum roll please, Warrior Callum! **

**In this version of the Winter Winds plot, Callum flees home to find his biological father, or any connection to him, after the death of his mother. Eventually he would find a way back to Katolis, and end up on the 'Journey to Xadia' with Rayla and, in this timeline, his virtually unknown little brother. Lot's of changes to the Journey, yet very few at the same time.**

**Hope y'all enjoy! Tell me what you think!**

**Merry Christmas!**

**Erebus**


End file.
